


Exceptions to the Rule

by crieshavoc



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pen Pals AU, propunk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-10 06:54:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crieshavoc/pseuds/crieshavoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Propunk pen pals AU - non clone verse. Sarah and Rachel are idiots. Chapters are summarized individually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Propunk anonymous pen pals AU: Sarah and Rachel unintentionally complaining about each other to each other; Sarah thinks the system is broken; Rachel thinks apathy is the real problem.

                Sarah is just minding her own business that morning, honestly. She’s just scribbling in the margins of her notebook, not exactly paying attention to class, but not causing any trouble.

                “Manning,” the teacher turns back from the doorway, holding a note in her hand, “go to the office.”

                “Wha’? Why? I didn’t do anything!” She’s up out of her seat even as she protests. Telling the truth never gets her _anywhere_. Sarah tries to think of what it could be _this time_ , as she walks through the empty halls with the note. All it says is that the school counselor wants to talk to her. Again. Sarah sighs. “It’s only the second week. I haven’t even had time to do anything wrong yet.”

                She shoulders the door open and slumps into a chair, staring sullenly at the woman across the desk.

                “Good morning, Sarah. Sorry to pull you out of class,” the counselor, Ms. Hendrix, is very perky and Sarah _hates_ her, “but an opportunity for you has just come to my attention.”

                “Why are Canadians always apologizing?” Sarah wonders out loud, shifting her head to show she’s listening.

                Ms. Hendrix ignores her, “One of the private schools in the area has started a pen pal exchange. The idea is to pair a troubled student, like yourself –”

                Sarah rolls her eyes.

                “ – with a high achiever. You two can talk about whatever you want. The office here will send yours on and you can pick the replies up once a week. And don’t worry, we won’t read them. There’s only one rule, actually, and that’s that you remain anonymous. You get to pick an alias and you have to agree not to meet up until the end of the school term.” The woman grins like she’s offering Sarah the _world_.

                “So I have to write letters back and forth all year with some snotty rich kid?” Sarah asks, sneering, “Do I have a choice?”

                The counselor’s face falls for just a second, but Sarah counts it as a victory. “No. No you don’t.” She holds out a sealed envelope for Sarah to take. “Try to stay _out_ of my office this year, Ms. Manning. You can go back to class now.”

                Sarah takes the letter, because she _doesn’t_ really have a choice, and heads back out into the hall. She considers, _seriously considers_ , ditching from there, but Mrs. S might just have a stroke or something if Sarah gets in trouble this soon.

                She doesn’t get a chance to read the letter until lunch.

 

\--

 

                Rachel is smart, methodical, hardworking, and polite. Rachel stays up as late as it takes to finish her work. Rachel has a perfect attendance record. Rachel is _not_ surprised when she is selected for the pen pal exchange. She isn’t _thrilled_ at being asked to communicate with some low life from _public school_ , but she is too well heeled to say no.

                Rachel picks Susan, her mother’s name, as her alias. Rachel lives with her father, Ethan Duncan, who is very forgetful and increasingly frail. Her father’s work associates, Marion and Aldous, are the ones who really raised her, since her mother died. Her father was a brilliant scientist, but the death of his wife robbed him of something _essential_. Rachel does not know what it is. She just misses her daddy.

                She does not tell her new pen pal, who simply goes by S, any of this. Rachel writes the first letter, according to the program rules. Rachel writes that she is pleased to have the chance to make a new friend (she’s not). Rachel writes about her advanced classes (her favorite is Psychology). Rachel writes that she likes to read poetry (this is true), that she enjoys walking in the park near her father’s office (she does this often, to pass the time after school), and that she used to have a cat (before her mother died, but she does not add this detail).

                Rachel waits patiently for the reply letter. Rachel doesn’t really _care_ about the program itself, or about _S_ , but at least it’s something to _do_.

 

\--

 

                Sarah falls asleep in class the day she turns in her first letter. She stayed up all night trying to figure out what to write. Everything she wrote down felt so _fake_. And her handwriting leaves something to be desired next to _Susan’s_. Susan’s handwriting is _perfect_. Like robot perfect. Sarah thinks it’s weird, but it still makes her self-conscious.

                She ends up writing about moving to Canada from England, about how she’s got a little brother (his name is Felix, but she calls him Anthony instead), and how her foster mum is actually not so bad. Sarah may give Mrs. S grey hairs, but she _did_ stick her neck out to keep her and Fe together, even if she did move them _across the Atlantic_ to Toronto, from London. Sarah doesn’t understand _why_ , and Mrs. S wouldn’t explain. In the letter, Sarah calls herself S and just refers to her foster mum as such, and not by name. Otherwise, she thinks, it would get confusing.

                Sarah nods off all day, but she gets to turn the letter in at lunch. After that, Sarah is wide awake. She ducks out to the athletic fields and finds Vic and his boys.

                “Oi, oi, losers!” She calls out, grinning at them.

                Vic trips over himself trying to stand up, “Hey Sarah! What’s up?”

                She shrugs, reaching the group and sitting down on Vic’s lap, leaning back against his familiar chest, “Nothing much. Just sent off my pen pal letter. Rich bitch Susan seems pretty boring so far.”

 

\--

 

                Rachel tries not to sneer at S’ handwriting, and succeeds, but only because she is distracted by the contents of the letter. _She moved from England to Canada, too?_ Rachel wonders if the schools did this on purpose and decides she doesn’t care. Rachel has to reign in her enthusiasm, for once, as she immediately starts writing a new letter.

                _Dear S,_

_I moved from Cambridge to Toronto when I was eight. My mother had just died and my father was unwell. What an odd thing to have in common – immigration, I mean. Maybe that’s why we were paired together. What part of London did you live in?_ …

                It’s funny, but Rachel starts to look forward to S’ letters. They both like peppermint tea best. They both like to read, but S prefers historical novels to Rachel’s mysteries (though there’s some overlap). Rachel makes a list of books that she’s read she thinks S will enjoy. She hopes the public library will have some of them, since she assumes S doesn’t have much money to buy books. Rachel even considers sending a few books through the schools, but she decides against it. S’ favorite subject in school (the _only_ one the other girl likes) is history, but she doesn’t get very good marks in it because she isn’t very good at writing papers. The more they write, back and forth, the more Rachel starts to consider them _friends_ , even if they don’t get to meet until the end of school.

 

\--

 

                _I have a biology test in a few weeks_ , Sarah reads in Susan’s newest letter, hanging backwards off her bed one night, _and I’m honestly a bit worried I won’t do well. My father would be so disappointed, but I just don’t have the aptitude for the natural sciences that he does._

                Sarah sits up, reaching for the dictionary she keeps next to her bed now. Susan’s vocabulary is bigger and way more refined than hers, but she’s learning. It made her mad, at first, but it’s actually kind of cool learning new words. Once she determines that _aptitude_ means _natural skill_ , she goes back to reading. Sarah wishes they could talk more often. Talking to Susan gets her an outlet to vent about Vic the Dick and his boys, about Fe- _Anthony_ being harassed at school for being gay and how _helpless_ that makes her feel, about lots of things. It’s _nice_ , having someone to talk to.

                _I’m so sorry to hear people are giving your brother a hard time! I’ve never understood that, personally. Why is it a big deal if you like boys or girls? Or both? Who cares? I think people should just mind their own business. I’d ask why you don’t just beat them up, the ones bothering him, but you shouldn’t get in trouble over some stupid bigots. Just tell the counselor at your school. They’re supposed to do something about those kinds of complaints._

                Sarah smiles, reading that, and thinks (not for the first time) that Susan’s not so bad for a rich kid, even if she’s way more trusting in the system than Sarah is.

 

\--

 

                The first time they meet is accidental. Sarah is running through the park by the river, running from one of Vic’s _friends_ who tried to hit on her (so she _hit him_ ), and she crashes headlong into Rachel. She barely glances at the other girl, seeing blonde hair and nice clothes and a _nice_ bag, and scrambles back to her feet.

                Rachel is winded from the fall and doesn’t get the chance to say anything. The contents of her purse are scattered on the path. She looks up and sees long, dark hair and ratty clothes. She sees the other girl eying her bag, so she grabs it, and then the brunette turns.

                Someone, a man, is shouting in the distance. The girl bolts.

                Rachel collects her things and straightens her clothes and shakes it off. At least the other girl didn’t try to _mug_ her or anything.

                Sarah doesn’t stop running until she’s out of the park. She barely remembers the blonde girl. She resolves to stop hanging around Vic.

                Neither of them mentions the encounter in their letters, otherwise they might have _known_.

 

\--

 

                Sarah sits in her biology class and tries to pay attention. Science isn’t so hard, she finds, and she glances at one of Susan’s letters from time to time. Susan sent her some tips for taking notes and studying. Sarah figures she might be able to help, somehow, so Susan doesn’t let her dad down. Sarah doesn’t let herself wonder what it would have been like, to have a father. She just focuses on what her teacher is saying about mitosis and tries to take good notes.

 

\--

 

                Rachel sits on her favorite bench in the park by her father’s office and reads S’ letter. S sent _biology notes_ with it. Rachel smiles at the gesture, even if her class is a few weeks ahead of the public schools. S means well, and Rachel appreciates that her friend is so thoughtful. It makes sense now, more so, that S asked for tips on note taking. It’s sweet, Rachel thinks, putting the letter away and taking her French textbook out of her school bag.

                “Hey.”

                Rachel looks up at the girl standing in front of her, immediately wary. The girl looks like she could use a shower and a new haircut. And a new wardrobe. “Can I help you?” Rachel narrows her eyes, immediately disliking the brunette.

                The other girl takes a half step backwards, clearly not expecting the sharp tone of Rachel’s voice. “I was hoping you had some change for bus fare. I lost my wallet and I need to get home or my mum will blow a gasket.”

                They both think it’s a bit strange to run into a stranger who is also British, but neither of them comments on it.

                Rachel sniffs and turns back to her work.

                The other girl lingers for a minute, then turns on her heel, muttering “Bitch,” just loud enough for Rachel to hear.

 

\--

 

                Sarah walks home as quickly as she can, but she’s half an hour past curfew anyway. Mrs. S grounds her for a month. Sarah retreats to her room and throws shit around until she feels better. She thinks about the posh bitch in the park. “Wouldn’t have _killed_ her to do a favor for someone she doesn’t know.” She sits on her bed, still angry, and writes to Susan about it.

                _I know you’re okay and all, but seriously rich people are the worst! I see it happen all the time – there’s all these PSA messages about helping the homeless and the less fortunate or whatever, but you lot always except mine to be greedy or violent. Sometimes we just need help! I’d rather not have to steal a birthday present for my little brother, you know? A family like mine – we don’t really have money for that kind of stuff, and I know I’m probably going to get caught one of these times, and then I’ll have a record and that’ll just be worse. What else am I supposed to do though? Let the kid go without? That’s not fair either!_

                Sarah doesn’t mean for it to turn into a rant, but three pages later her hand is cramping. She thinks maybe it will do Susan good, to know some truth about how the system _doesn’t work_ for the people who need it most.

 

\--

 

                Rachel has mixed feelings, reading S’ letter. Rachel wants to sympathize with her friend, but she just doesn’t _agree_. Certainly there are cracks in the system, but most people _are_ just lazy. Rachel knows S is an exception. S _cares_. Most people, rich or poor, just _don’t_. Rachel tries to express this, in her reply, but she worries all week that she wrote the wrong thing. She worries _more_ when S’ next letter is two weeks late.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah is passionate; Rachel is contemplative; Vic’s a Dick.

                _Susan,_

_I’m really sorry that this is late. There was something wrong with the roof at my school and water damage in the office – long story, but my last letter got ruined and nobody told me._

_I’m not going to rewrite everything (I don’t even remember exactly what I said), but I get you about apathy. It’s definitely a problem, but I think it’s also a symptom of how bad things are. Like, instead of dealing with the real problems, like poverty and corruption, we get distracted by little things or we just don’t try because we’re told nothing one person does can really make a difference. We’re told to be apathetic – we’re told everybody else is apathetic – so we just shrug our shoulders and deal with whatever shit life throws our way. Does that make sense?_

_I think it’s messed up, either way. And I appreciate what you said about dealing with Anthony’s bullies. Part of it is that some of the guys are friends of mine. Sort of. I want to tell them to shove off, but if they don’t listen then we’ll both catch hell from them. They aren’t really people to be messed with. My brother’s got pretty thick skin most of the time, so he’ll be okay._

_Also, I was wondering if you wanted to meet up? I know it’s against the rules of the program or whatever, but we could just pretend to be surprised at the end of the year. Or at least use our real names. I feel like when we meet I’m just going to call you Susan for like a month until I adjust to your actual name. It’s weird. I don’t understand why they told us to use aliases. Isn’t that backwards or something? Me doing this is supposed to help keep me out of trouble, but I could be totally bullshitting and practice using a fake identity! Maybe they think I’m too stupid for that._

_I’m not bullshitting you, for the record. I mean, we’re friends, right? I wouldn’t do that to a real friend. Even people like me have boundaries._

_And I’m glad you did okay on your bio test. I bet your dad was over the moon about it. I hope he was._

_S_

 

                Rachel smiles fondly as she reads. S’ vocabulary and sentence structure has certainly improved over the past few months. It’s almost Christmas break, now, and much too cold for sitting in the park. Instead, Rachel sits and drinks tea at a Starbucks until someone from her father’s office comes by to drive her home. Really, she could just _go home_ , but she hates being in the big house alone all afternoon.

                Looking back over the letter, Rachel is thoughtful. Her friend may not have been dealt the best hand in life, but she is naturally intelligent and passionate. Rachel wonders what someone like S could accomplish if given the kind of wealth and status Rachel’s family has. For the first time in her young life, Rachel considers how much opportunity has to do with luck and how much with stacking the deck. It’s a frightening concept, to think how many people don’t achieve what they are capable of just because they are born into a disadvantaged situation.

                Then again, Rachel thinks, looking out the window at the people passing by, money _isn’t_ anything. Rachel would give up every luxury she’s ever had if it meant getting her mother back. If it meant getting her _father_ back. He’s been getting worse lately. Rachel sighs and pulls out a clean sheet of paper. Talking to S is much better than thinking about how, just a few days ago in fact, her father couldn’t remember her name.

 

 

-

                _Dear S,_

_That’s crazy about what happened at your school. Honestly, you’d think people would make sure the building itself is intact, at least._

_I wish you didn’t have to associate with people like that – and before you get mad, I mean people who use their brute strength to push others around just because they can. People who use their intellect or their money to do the same are bad, too. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should, right? I do understand that sometimes that’s all you have, so you use it. I’m getting it, I promise. Sometimes I think I’m learning more from you than you are from me. What you say, about the real problems, it makes sense. I never thought of it that way before. My family gives money to charity every year, because it’s the “right thing to do,” but I would be lying if I said I spend any more time at the soup kitchen than I need to for university applications._

_I feel weird about it, now. Thank you for that, my friend. (Yes, we are friends!) It is easier, I think, so convince ourselves we’re doing our part and just go on with our lives. Like you said, apathy breeds apathy. Somebody else’s problems are theirs, not mine. I have my own. I still think that, but maybe both are true. Maybe I should do more. It’s not my job to save everybody, just because I was adopted by a wealthy couple, but that doesn’t mean I should do nothing either. I could have had a much different life, you know. I don’t like thinking about it, but it’s true. I’m grateful for what I have. I’m more grateful, since we started talking. I’m glad we talk about real things. Do you realize we could be talking about crushes and TV shows and pimples?_

_I don’t know about meeting up. It is against the rules, but more than that, I kind of like the mystery. I agree about our names though. Susan was my mother’s name. I miss her. My dad’s not doing well. He took my mother’s death extremely hard and he’s never really recovered. I don’t really have friends at my school. Everyone is so fake and so competitive. I’m at the top of the class, so I’m the enemy. Anybody who talks to me just wants to be my friend for the status of it. It’s always bothered me, but now it makes me angry. We haven’t met, yet, but you know me so much better than any of them. It’s strange, isn’t it?_

_Your friend,_

_Rachel_

                Sarah waits until she’s home in her room to read the letters now. She can’t help but react to what Susan – no, _Rachel_ – what Rachel writes, so she prefers to be alone. Otherwise, Sarah thinks, she just looks weird: smiling one minute, frowning the next, laughing after that, scoffing or scowling. This is the first time her friend has said she was adopted. It’s the first time she’s told Sarah much about her family.

                She curls up against her pillow, reading from the beginning again. Sarah is glad they talk about real life issues, too. It’s so _good_ to have serious conversation with someone. She didn’t realize how much she liked debating, and she certainly couldn’t with _her_ friends at school. Vic and the guys are good for some things (maybe), but they never want to _talk_ to her.

                Sarah feels bad, reading about Rachel’s dad. She’s usually all praise when she mentions him. He’s a scientist and he’s done some groundbreaking stuff. It makes Sarah sad to know he’s not really there for her. It makes Sarah angry to know _nobody’s_ really there for her, by the sound of it. Sarah decides to try again to convince Rachel to meet up. _She_ could be there for Rachel. She falls asleep with the letter, thinking about what to write back.

 

-

                The next time they cross paths is _also_ an accident. Sarah is out with Vic and the guys, not really because she _wants_ to be, but because it’s something to _do._ It’s freezing outside and it looks like snow. Sarah’s bored and all of them are broke, so when one of Vic’s buddies suggests following some blonde chick and seeing if they can snag her purse, Sarah goes along with it. She doesn’t think much of it. The girl is wearing some fancy prep school uniform, so she’s probably got cash, maybe even a credit card, and it’s not like the money’s really _hers_.

                Sarah is posted as lookout, walking a few paces behind the boys as they approach the girl. She actually looks kind of familiar, but Sarah can’t place her.

                At first, the guys just try to swipe the bag and do a runner, but the girl puts up a fight and starts shouting.

                Vic pushes her hard, but she keeps hold of her purse even as she falls to the ground. “Should have just given us your money, bitch.” He sneers down at her, pulling his leg back.

                Sarah jumps forward, knocking Vic off balance. “Hey, none of that!”

                “What the fuck, Manning?” Vic yells, looking around to see if they’re attracting any unwanted attention.

                “You don’t need to fucking _kick_ her,” Sarah spits out, turning to look at the blonde.

                The girl is wide eyed, still down on the cold sidewalk, shifting her gaze quickly between Sarah and the group of guys.

                “Look, just give us your wallet and –” Sarah stops, noticing something that’s fallen out of the other girl’s backpack. A letter. “What’s that?” She points, heart in her throat. There’s _no way_ , right?

                Vic is swearing at them both, now, and the other guys are getting antsy. “Who cares? Get the money, Sarah!”

                “Hold on!” Sarah snaps at him. To the girl, she asks, “What’s your name?”

                The other girl’s eyes snap back to hers. “What? Why?”

                “Just answer the question! _Shite_.” Sarah doesn’t know how long the guys will _wait_.

                “Rachel,” the girl says, and Sarah’s stomach drops.

                “Fuck,” Sarah turns again, standing protectively in front of the blonde. “Abort mission, okay?” She shakes her head at Vic, “Just go. I know her, we can’t – _Shit._ ”

                She hears a gasp behind her.

                All the guys look at her like she’s _insane_ , but they _are_ attracting attention now, so they reluctantly move on up the street.

                Sarah keeps one eye on them as she helps _Rachel_ to her feet, ducking down again to grab the letter. “I asked you for bus fare a while back,” she voices the sudden realization.

                “Yes,” Rachel looks as dumbstruck as Sarah feels, “and even before that, you ran into me in the park. Literally _ran_ into me,” she smiles, and then they’re both laughing.

                “That was you? I wasn’t really looking, _shit_ , so much for anonymous,” Sarah chuckles, grinning, and takes a moment to really _look_ at Rachel. She’s pretty, Sarah thinks.

                Rachel squeezes her hand, because Sarah’s still holding it. “Would you like some coffee, Sarah?” She asks, and Sarah thinks her friend might be blushing, but it’s too cold out to really tell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah has trouble thinking “straight”; Rachel is impulsively affectionate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Anon prompt for this chapter: "I love how you write Rachel and Sarah. more exceptions to the rule? Maybe something cute with hugs because hugs are awesome."
> 
> Original chapter summary: Sarah is a dork. Rachel is a dork. Sarah and Rachel are dorks with crushes on each other.

                They talk for _hours_. Rachel feels warm and she’s fairly certain it’s not the coffee. She remembers why she reacted negatively, the first time she saw Sarah, but it’s _different_ now.

                Sarah could still probably benefit (socially, at least) from a shopping spree, and perhaps some conditioner for her hair, but Sarah is _beautiful_. Rachel thinks she is, anyway. Rachel looks down into her mug (she prefers to use the mugs while she sits and does her work, instead of wasting a take away cup) and blushes.

                “You okay, posh?” Sarah puts her hand on Rachel’s arm.

                Rachel just blushes more, hearing the new nickname, and hopes Sarah sticks with it. “I’m fine. What were you saying, about your history class?” She tries to maintain eye contact with Sarah, but the flash of sharp teeth she sees every time her friend smiles is hard to handle.

                “Right, yeah, we have to give a presentation next week and,” Sarah leaves her hand on Rachel’s arm as she speaks, which Rachel finds rather distracting, “I _know_ what to say, but it takes too long to say it all. We’re supposed to keep it to ten minutes – and I thought at first that it was _so much time_ , you know? It’s really not though, not once you get into it.” Sarah tilts her head forward and her hair falls in front of her eye.

                Rachel reaches out and pushes it behind Sarah’s ear without a thought. She freezes when Sarah does, when her finger brushes Sarah’s skin, and they just share at each other. Rachel isn’t sure for how long. Too long. Not long enough. “I could help you with it, if you’d like.” She pulls her hand back, putting it in her lap, feeling it tingle.

                Sarah clears her throat, twice, and says, “I’d like that. Thanks.”

 

-

                They sit and drink coffee until someone from Rachel’s dad’s office comes to take Rachel home. When the young, buff, suited man arrives, Sarah jumps to her feet like she’s been burned.

                Sarah’s palms are sweaty and she hopes Rachel hasn’t noticed, since Sarah’s hand has been on her friend’s arm for _ages_ now. She forgot it was there. It felt _good_ , touching Rachel, even if it was casual. Maybe, maybe _especially_ because it was casual.

                Rachel gives her a worried look, but turns to the man. “Hello, Daniel.”

                The man nods, eyeing Sarah disapprovingly.

                “This is my friend, Sarah,” Rachel sounds so proper and professional. She talks to the guy like he’s beneath her. “Sarah, this is Daniel. He drives me home most days.”

                Sarah waves awkwardly, “Hey,” and shrugs her jacket back on as Rachel does the same.

                Rachel starts to follow the guy, Daniel, out of the shop, but stops and turns back when Sarah touches her arm again.

                “So, I guess, I’ll see you ‘round then?” Sarah scratches the back of her head nervously. She doesn’t want to go, yet. She doesn’t want Rachel to go.

                Rachel looks confused, “We – we should exchange phone numbers, shouldn’t we?” She digs into her purse and pulls out a cell phone.

                “Oh, uh, I can give you my house phone, but I – I don’t have one of those,” Sarah gestures to the mobile.

                “Oh,” Rachel looks up at her, and the other girl’s face is pink again, “yes, that’s perfectly fine. Most – most people our age don’t, right?” Rachel looks embarrassed, but Sarah’s not sure for whom.

                Sarah takes the mobile out of Rachel’s hand, her heart speeding up when their fingers touch, and punches in the digits. “Give me a call later?”

                “I will,” Rachel smiles at her and points outside, “Do you want a ride?”

                “That’s okay,” Sarah stuffs her hands in her pockets, feeling too warm inside with her jacket on, “I can catch the bus in a bit.”

                Rachel shakes her head, grabbing Sarah’s arm and tugging her toward the door, “Nonsense. It’s too cold to wait around for a bus if you don’t have to.” She pulls Sarah closer, continuing more softly, “Tonight, you don’t have to. Please?”

                Sarah _wants_ to say no again, wants to be proud and tough out the weather, but the look Rachel’s giving her is hard to resist. And she doesn’t want to say goodbye yet, anyhow. “Okay, posh.”

                Sarah’s _pretty sure_ Rachel is blushing this time.

 

-

                “Turn here,” Sarah leans forward, one hand on the back of the passenger seat. She gives Daniel directions to her neighborhood, planning to have him stop the car a ways from her house. No need for Rachel to drive her the _whole_ way. Her other hand is on the seat with Rachel’s fingers threaded through hers. Sarah tries not to focus on it.

                “Sarah?” Rachel’s been quiet most of the ride.

                “Yeah?” Sarah turns her head, still leaning forward, trying to keep some distance. She had trouble thinking for the first few minutes when they got in the car – when Rachel grabbed her hand and pulled her into the backseat. When Sarah fell into the seat and against Rachel’s side and Rachel didn’t immediately move away.

                “What do you think we should do about the letters?” Rachel asks her question softly, her eyes trained on Sarah.

                Sarah’s still having trouble getting her brain to _function_ , being in such close proximity to the blonde. “I guess we should keep sending them? Even if we’ll talk on the phone and hang out, too.” She shrugs, not overly concerned about it.

                Rachel nods slowly, “Otherwise we’d have to explain about running into each other,” she smirks, “I don’t think the counselor at your school would be happy to hear you almost mugged me.”

                Sarah snaps her eyes over to Daniel, “Say that louder, yeah?”

                Rachel tugs on her hand until she sits back. “Relax. You _didn’t_. In fact, you stopped those guys from hurting me. If we ever _do_ have to explain, I’ll paint you as the hero.” The way Rachel smiles at her makes Sarah’s knees weak and she’s _sitting down_.

                She looks away, “That’s an overestimation, isn’t it?”

                “I don’t think so,” Rachel tells her, sounding sincere.

                Sarah looks at their hands and up at Rachel, trying not to freak out about how _close_ the other girl is, “Whatever floats ya, posh.” Sarah really likes how Rachel’s face lights up at the nickname.

                They’re quiet for a few blocks, until Sarah tells Daniel to pull over.

                “Here’s good. I can walk the rest of the way,” she continues quickly over Rachel’s protests, “Seriously, Rach, it’s only a few blocks.”

                Rachel doesn’t look happy about it, but she shrugs her shoulders, “Okay, if you’re sure?”

                “I’ll be fine. Thanks for taking me this far,” Sarah thinks she should probably thank Daniel, too, but he’s been glaring at her for like twenty minutes, so she just keeps looking at Rachel. She doesn’t need much incentive.

                “Of course,” Rachel grins at her, pulling at her uniform skirt with her free hand.

                Sarah tries to keep her eyes away from Rachel’s skirt.

                “So, I’ll call you later?” Rachel raises both eyebrows hopefully.

                Sarah pushes her door open, “Yeah, do that.” She doesn’t want to let go of Rachel’s hand, but she does. She turns back and pulls up abruptly.

                Rachel is shuffling over on the seat, mussing her skirt, and climbs out to stand on the sidewalk, too. She looks nervous. “Goodnight, Sarah,” she says quietly.

                “Goodnight, Rach,” Sarah grins, shifting her bag on one shoulder.

                Rachel looks like she wants to say something more, but instead she starts to put her arm up and stops, her face going red again.

                Sarah gives her a questioning look, starting to feel weird standing so close together on the sidewalk in the cold.

                Rachel reaches out again and pulls Sarah into a hug.

                “Oh,” Sarah doesn’t mean to say it out loud, and quickly brings her arms around and hugs back.

                “Bye,” Rachel whispers, her lips right next to Sarah’s ear.

                “See you,” Sarah breathes the words, watching as Rachel gets back in the car. She stands in the cold and watches until the car is out of sight.

 

-

                Rachel stares out the window all the way home, trying to familiarize herself with Sarah’s neighborhood. She stares and sees Sarah’s smile instead of storefronts. She twists her hands in her lap and adjusts her skirt over and over until Daniel pulls up in front of her house. She _wants_ to rush in and call Sarah right away, but she makes herself _wait_ and finish her homework first. She checks on her father first, too, but he’s asleep. He sleeps most of the time, lately. It _worries_ her, and she thinks about telling Sarah.

                Rachel goes up to her room and curls up on her bed and calls the saved number. The phone rings four times before Sarah picks up.

                _“Oi! I said I got it! Hello?_ ” Sarah sounds out of breath.

                Rachel smiles, imagining Sarah running for the phone before her brother or her foster mum could get to it, “Hi, Sarah.”

                _“Hey there, posh. Got home safe, then?”_

                “Yes,” Rachel says, and tries to think of what else to say. “Would you like to come over tomorrow?”

                _“To your house?”_ Sarah sounds surprised and, Rachel thinks, hesitant.

                “I could help you with your presentation, like we talked about,” Rachel bites her lip.

                Sarah takes a moment to reply, _“Uh, I mean, I’d love – like to, let me ask, hang on_ ,” and then her voice is muffled.

                Rachel is impatient for an affirmative answer, but she has no choice but to wait. She crosses her fingers and pretends it doesn’t feel childish.

                “ _Okay, Mrs. S says I can. Could – could you pick me up, or should I take the bus?_ ” Sarah definitely sounds hesitant.

                Rachel thinks she might be nervous to be here, in the big house Rachel grew up in, surrounded by _things_ Sarah never had. Rachel wants her to come, anyway. “I’ll pick you up. Do you want to give me your address, or should I meet you where we stopped today?”

                _“Tha’ corner’s fine. Say, around one? Or two? Whatever works for you? I mean, it’s Saturday, so, whatever’s best.”_ Sarah’s rambling and Rachel finds it wholly endearing.

                As if Rachel needed _more_ reason to find Sarah endearing.

                “Two o’ clock sounds perfect,” she says.

                _“Great. Okay.”_

                Rachel can hear Sarah shift the phone from one ear to the other and is reminded of how it felt when she fixed her friend’s hair earlier. Rachel feels flushed from the top of her head to her toes. She’s distracted by it and forgets to reply.

                _“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then_.”

                “Yes, goodnight again, Sarah,” Rachel rushes her words, feeling a bit foolish for sitting there in silence. Once they hang up, Rachel stares at her ceiling for a good while, replaying the afternoon. She falls asleep thinking about Sarah’s hand on her arm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah and Rachel are alone, together, for the first time.

                Sarah rocks on her heels, hands shoved in her pockets to keep warm, as she waits for Rachel on the corner. She doesn’t own a watch, so she made sure to leave the house with time to spare. Sarah’s a bit nervous about going to her friend’s house. About walking through halls of where _the other half lives_. Sarah thinks Rachel is an exception to what she knows about rich people. Rachel is _trying to be_ , at least, now that they’re friends. Rachel’s been trying to understand how Sarah thinks, how Sarah lives, what the world is like without so much money.

                Sarah exhales, seeing her breath in the air, as a car pulls up to the curb. She leans over, brushing her hair back with one hand, and smiles as the back window rolls down.

                “Hello, Sarah,” Rachel leans over on the seat, waving shyly.

                “Hey, posh,” Sarah grins, tugging on the door handle. She rocks on her heels again because it’s locked.

                “Daniel,” her friend’s voice is sharp.

                Sarah hears the door unlock and tries again. She hurries into the warm car.

                Rachel is out of her school uniform, but she’s still wearing a skirt.

                “Hey,” Sarah says again, keeping her eyes on Rachel’s face. Not that _that_ helps much.

                “Hi,” Rachel looks away. She speaks to her hands prim in her lap, “Did you bring the materials for your history presentation?”

                Sarah hefts her bag into her lap, “Yeah, o’ course I did.”

                “Good,” Rachel nods, pleased, as if her hands would stray without her eyes gluing them in place.

 

\--

                Rachel is nervous, having Sarah over. She didn’t bother asking her father for permission. He might not remember and that would be embarrassing. Rachel isn’t sure she’ll introduce them for that reason. For a few reasons, if she’s honest with herself, and she _is_ trying to be that. Rachel leads Sarah into the big house by their joined hands. She grabbed her friend’s hand at some point during the ride. Rachel’s hands gravitate to Sarah’s. Rachel gravitates to Sarah.

                “We can work in my room,” Rachel says over her shoulder, leading the way up the stairs. She doesn’t quite know how to feel about the wide-eyed look on Sarah’s face.

                “Your house is amazing,” Sarah tells her with awe in her voice.

                Rachel watches Sarah’s throat at she speaks. This is only slightly less dangerous than watching Sarah’s lips, but it suffices. Rachel swallows, feeling her own throat move, and opens the door to her bedroom. “Thank you,” the words leave her stiffly.

                Sarah brushing past her through the doorway would leave her stiff, if her anatomy was different than it is.

                Her brunette friend, all dark eyes and hair and clothes, turns slowly in a circle, her thread worn bag hanging from one shoulder. Sarah whistles, her eyes glancing off Rachel’s large bed and plush carpet and rows of books and shelves of academic trophies.

                Rachel hovers near the door, wondering if she should close it or not. Her house is never _noisy_ , so it’s not like they would be disturbed. Her father is a heavy sleeper because of his medications, so it’s not like they would disturb his rest. Rachel closes the door anyway.

                “Do you want to get started right away?” Sarah asks, sitting on Rachel’s bed and kicking off her shoes. She curls her legs up onto Rachel’s comforter. Rachel half expects there to be holes in Sarah’s socks, but that isn’t the case.

                Rachel considers the question. “What else would we do?” She invited Sarah over for a purpose, didn’t she? The presentation was an excuse, yes, but Rachel doesn’t have the nerve to arrange the words beneath the guise.

                Sarah grins at her, all teeth and eyes that are too bright to just be _brown_. Sarah pats the space next to her on the bed. Rachel’s bed. “We could just hang out for a while, posh.”

                Rachel feels herself relax, despite herself, despite knowing on some level that this is _dangerous_ , and she can’t help how close she sits. It isn’t _intentional_ , exactly, but perhaps it is inevitable.

 

\--

                Sarah feels her breath hitch without her saying it could, when Rachel sits _right_ next to her on the bed. She feels her mouth go dry because there are no more distractions. They aren’t out in public, waiting for Daniel the Suit to show up. There’s no Vic cursing at them in the background. Sarah doesn’t know if Rachel’s father is home, but the smell of Rachel’s perfume chases such questions from her mind. This is the first time they’ve been alone, together, and Sarah really hope it won’t be the last.

                “So,” Rachel shifts, not away or closer, just fidgets with her hands on either side of her legs. One of her hands is very close to Sarah’s own.

                Sarah laughs and forces herself to relax. _It’s just Rachel_ , she thinks, as if that _means_ something.

                Rachel looks at her like she’s being odd, for laughing.

                Sarah covers Rachel’s hand with hers, “Tell me something I don’t know yet. Something that hasn’t been in your letters.” She smiles, because Rachel flushes whenever they touch. She smiles because maybe it distracts from how she’s pinked up, too.

                Rachel tilts her head and her eyes narrow in concentration. “I’ve only ever kissed boys from my school that other girls said were attractive,” she says, though the relevance is as subtle as a bus horn. Rachel looks her in the eyes and adds, “I think passion is more attractive than any physical feature.”

                Sarah leans a bit closer, putting her weight on their hands, “Yeah?”

                “Yeah,” Rachel confirms, her eyes dropping away.

 

\--

                Rachel isn’t sure why she said that. Rachel _knows_ why she said that, but she’s just the slightest bit surprised the words actually came out with any kind of coherence.

                Sarah’s hand is warm. Sarah’s eyes are warm, like honey or hot chocolate. Rachel isn’t sure which. It seems to depend on the lighting, or maybe on the topic of conversation.

                “The first thing I stole was a paint brush set, for Felix,” Sarah tells her, shrugging like there’s no point in regretting the action.

                A few months ago, Rachel would have asked why she didn’t just _buy_ it, or ask her mother for the money. It occurs to Rachel that she doesn’t know what Sarah’s mother (foster mother) does for a living.

                “Are you Toronto’s own Robin Hood, then?” Rachel smiles and thinks she could get used to the warm weight of Sarah’s hand on hers.

                “Maybe,” Sarah winks at her.

                Rachel wants to take her shoes off, and her socks, because she’s blushing and she can’t very well take anything _else_ off to cool down. Rachel is reluctant to pull her hand away, but she does. Without looking up, not yet, Rachel asks, “Do you want to watch a movie? I have plenty.” Rachel wonders if that’s the polite way to say it, or if her words draw attention to the differences between them. She just wanted a distraction from how badly she wants to put her hand back under Sarah’s and put _more_ of herself under Sarah.

                Sarah doesn’t seem to notice the possible slight or the slight ways in which Rachel is trying to keep some boundaries between them. Sarah looks where Rachel is pointing and stands up to look through the collection of tapes. Her friend walks lightly without her boots on, silently padding her way across the room, lingering fingers touching the top corner of Rachel’s television set.

                “Nice,” Sarah mutters, and Rachel can see her lip begin to curl.

                Rachel thinks that disgust and jealousy are, perhaps, the very same thing.

 

\--

                Sarah taps her finger against her chin thoughtfully. She _doesn’t_ really want to watch anything. She _should_ be working on her presentation. Sarah walks back to the bed without selecting a movie.

                Rachel raises an eyebrow at her, hands back on the edge of the bed.

                “I have a better idea,” Sarah says, because self-restraint has never really been her strong suit and she _really_ likes the smell of Rachel’s perfume. She puts one knee on the bed and leans close to her friend; her blonde, rich, pretty friend named Rachel (not Susan), placing her hands on Rachel’s legs so her intentions are obvious.

                The way Rachel’s mouth falls open slightly and her eyes drift to Sarah’s lips are obvious.

                Sarah pauses and raises an eyebrow back at her, just in case.

                “Okay,” Rachel says.

                Sarah thinks Rachel’s lips taste like peppermint tea.

 

\--

                “Thanks for helping me with my project,” Sarah grins at her with still-wet lips.

                Rachel nods her head, smiling back with _some_ measure of restraint as Daniel pulls up in front of the house. “Of course. It was my pleasure, Sarah.”

                Sarah chuckles. Rachel likes the sound of it, of Sarah being happy (because of _her_ ).

                Rachel waves a hand to get Daniel’s attention, “Just a moment. Wait there.” She pulls Sarah back further into the house, away from the door.

                Her friend follows obediently, not bothering to ask useless questions.

                Rachel pushes Sarah up against the wall, next to some expensive landscape or another, and kisses her again. Rachel runs her hands up into Sarah’s wild, dark hair and shivers as Sarah’s hands roam across her body.

                Sarah breathes heavily into her ear as Rachel moves her lips down the column of her friend’s neck.

                Rachel licks Sarah’s skin and tastes the remnants of sweat. “I’ll see you on Friday?” Rachel asks, kissing Sarah’s ear.

                Sarah groans and pulls Rachel closer, “Yeah, sure, posh, Friday. Maybe,” Sarah pushes her back a bit, slowing her breath purposefully, “maybe call me before then?”

                Rachel smirks, but it fades almost immediately into a softer smile, “Okay. C’mon,” she enjoys the way touching Sarah makes her heart race and all the ways she can observe the effect _she has_ on Sarah, too. Rachel leads them back to the front door, to where Daniel is waiting out in the cold to drive Sarah home. Rachel goes with them, this time, because she figures Sarah won’t want to be alone with the man. _They’ll get used to each other_ , she thinks, beyond pleased at how the afternoon has turned out.

                The lingering looks Sarah gives her the whole way back are something Rachel wants to get used to.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel and Sarah are bad at feelings; Sarah gets frostbite and a new coat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of feelings (and denial of said feelings) in this one. Dweebs.

                Fridays become their regular day. After school, Sarah catches the bus to meet Rachel for coffee. Rachel wants to give her friend bus fare, has offered _repeatedly_ , but the brunette refuses. Rachel doesn’t bother asking why. She figures it has something to do with Sarah’s pride, so she tries to leave it alone. Pride is, after all, something they have in common. Rachel and Sarah are both _proud_ , and they both understand pride in what they _do_ have (in Rachel’s case, money and the promise of influence; in Sarah’s case, family and loyalty and _grit_ ) as the best defense against the glaring absence of what they do _not_ have. Together, Rachel thinks, they are somehow… complete. She doesn’t _say this_ to Sarah, of course, but that does not impact the truth of the thought.

                Rachel may have admitted to herself, in the dark of night, that she wishes it was feasible for Sarah to stay the night sometimes, just once even. Rachel may have admitted to herself, in the middle of the night (long after her sheets have cooled from the afternoon), that she wants to know what it would be like to wake up in Sarah’s arms. Rachel _may have_ , because they _are_ only sixteen-year-old girls, after all.

                They spend less and less time out in public together, and more and more time anxiously waiting for Daniel to show up to drive them both to Rachel’s big house with big empty rooms and _privacy_. Rachel still finds herself blushing around the other girl, because there are times when Sarah is just so _sweet_ to her, but they settle into a rhythm. In their friendship, of course.

                Sarah aces her history presentation, too, because Rachel _does_ give her a hand with it, when the blonde’s hands aren’t _otherwise_ _occupied_. Sarah’s hands, and mouth, haven’t exactly been idle either, and while Rachel certainly doesn’t count herself as being _experienced_ quite yet, she is pretty sure that sex with Sarah is the very definition of mind blowing. She wants to tell her friend so, but bringing it up in conversation is quite a bit harder than just _doing_ it (and each other).

                Rachel allows herself to sigh, looking between her rapidly cooling mug of tea and Sarah’s latest letter. Keeping up with the letters seems silly to her, honestly, but then again, they don’t exactly _talk_ every time they see each other face to face. Feeling the increasingly familiar sensation of a blush creeping up her neck, Rachel clears her throat and looks back to the letter. There is no need to be _embarrassed_ about what they were doing. Even if Rachel isn’t entirely clear on how to describe things between them. It doesn’t matter. It’s _late_ , and her father is asleep, and Rachel just wants to read Sarah’s letter again and go to _bed_ (alone).

 

                _Rachel,_

_Thanks again for helping me practice my presentation. My teacher was really impressed by it. A few of my teachers have said something to me, actually, about my grades improving and my participation in class being better lately. It’s totally your fault (in a good way). I never knew, before we starting writing each other, that arguing could be fun. Debating, you know? I like it._

_Now I need to dig into a stupid English Lit paper, so I have to keep this letter short (kind of like you). I honestly don’t have anything else to say (write?) at the moment! See you on Friday, posh._

_Sarah_

                Rachel huffs, trying not laugh because this is the _fifth time_ she’s read Sarah’s joke and it wasn’t funny to begin with. Sarah isn’t any taller than her – it makes no sense, really, but every time Rachel reads it she can picture Sarah winking at her and grinning in that sloppy way that shows off her teeth, and pretending she doesn’t want to laugh at an un-funny joke is better than admitting how absolutely _smitten_ she is. Rachel Duncan doesn’t do _smitten_ , especially not over an unexpectedly intelligent, unexpectedly beautiful, unexpectedly _wonderful_ street kid named Sarah Manning.

                Absolutely _not_.

 

\--

                Sarah shifts from foot to foot, shivering. She pulls her coat tighter, gripping one strap of her book bag as if doing so will ward off the cold. She _really_ needs to get a watch – leaving the house early is a good idea, you know, so she she’s not late, but it’s _freezing_. Sarah kicks at the snow aimlessly and hopes the bus shows up soon.

                The bus must be running late, perhaps on account of the snow, and when it does arrive the heat isn’t working. By the time Sarah gets to their usual meet up spot she can barely feel her fingertips. It’s _much_ warmer inside the coffee shop, and anytime Sarah’s near Rachel it seems like somebody’s turned the temperature up by about five degrees. It helps, but Sarah’s fingers are red and start to sting after a few minutes, even once she wraps them securely around her latte. She likes the caramel ones, even if they are expensive.

                “Are you okay, Sarah?” Rachel asks. The blonde doesn’t even seem to look up from her textbook (some sort of advanced math, Sarah isn’t sure which one), but there’s concern in her voice.

                Sarah hunches over her drink. “Yeah, just cold. I’ll be fine,” she waves a hand dismissively.

                Rachel must catch the movement because now she _does_ look up and she sees how frostbitten Sarah’s fingers are.

                “Do you have gloves?” Rachel sets her pencil down and reaches for her own mug, taking a slow sip and watching Sarah over the rim of it.

                “Someplace,” Sarah shrugs, a noncommittal answer. She watches as her friend’s eyes narrow.

                Rachel is quiet for a long while, first just staring at Sarah blankly (Sarah knows this means Rachel is considering something), and then returning to her work.

                Sarah brushes melting snow off her bag and pulls out the novel she’s been reading for Lit. She’s mostly through it. She gets most of her work done when she’s with Rachel, oddly. When they aren’t talking or… not talking, they’re doing work. Sarah does hers more out of reflex than anything. She’d be bored otherwise, while Rachel’s nose is stuck in her own work. Sarah _hates_ being bored. She does stupid shit when she’s bored. She’d rather be doing homework with Rachel in this companionable silence they always fall into than half the crap she used to get up to with Vic and his crew.

                Sarah wonders, pausing halfway through a page to glance at Rachel, if that’s odd. If it’s weird that she _likes_ doing work quietly as long as her blonde friend is nearby. Sarah finds herself smiling as she watches Rachel’s face scrunch momentarily.

                “Stop staring,” Rachel says, flipping back a page in her text to reread something.

                “Why?” Sarah’s grinning now. She enjoys picking at Rachel.

                Rachel meets her eye and looks away.

                Sarah watches her friend’s face turn pink for the _millionth_ time. Sarah _likes_ getting under Rachel’s skin. It’s harmless. She’s just teasing.

                Rachel looks back at her, setting her pencil down again. She looks thoughtful. “Would you let me take you shopping?”

                “Shopping?” Sarah rolls the word in her mouth slowly. She arches a brow at her _rich_ friend carefully, “For what?”

                “Gloves, for starters,” Rachel blinks back at her. “A warmer coat, a hat perhaps, or a scarf? New boots?” Rachel shrugs, “Whatever you want.”

                Sarah knows the word _want_ is an intentionally substitution for _need_. Part of her wants to be offended, to recoil at how easily Rachel asks, because _getting what you need_ has never been a concern for Rachel if what she needs has a price tag attached to it. She _knows_ though, she knows Rachel means well. Sarah knows Rachel _cares_ , otherwise she wouldn’t offer.

                “Promise you won’t try to completely change my style?” Sarah asks, her voice quieter than usual.

                Rachel snorts into her coffee. “You have a style?”

                “Bitch,” Sarah growls, but she can’t help but smile.

 

\--

                Shopping with Sarah is more and less exciting than expected. Daniel is less than pleased to be driving them around downtown for four hours, but Rachel doesn’t particularly _care_ what Daniel thinks or how he feels. Rachel cares about _Sarah_ and thinks that she’s being rather helpful to her friend. Rachel doesn’t like the thought of Sarah standing around in the snow waiting for the bus without _gloves_. It’s ridiculous. Rachel is careful, because she knows how quick to anger Sarah can be, but honestly she’s can’t let the other girl just _freeze_.

                Rachel is careful not to spend too long in any one store. She is careful to watch Sarah’s reactions to prices and clientele (Rachel does _not_ care what the clientele thinks of Sarah, not at all), to watch Sarah’s face and her body language as they shop. Rachel is used to private shoppers and exclusive deals. Rachel knows Sarah is used to second hand and darned socks. Rachel isn’t trying to _impress_ by taking Sarah shopping. She truly isn’t. She’s just trying to help.

                “What about this one, posh?” Sarah turns, flipping up the high collar of a light tan long coat. The color contrasts the dark browns of Sarah’s hair beautifully.

                Rachel smiles and nods her head. She reaches out and grabs Sarah’s wrist at her friend starts to check the price. “Don’t.” Rachel says the word quietly, waiting patiently for Sarah to meet her gaze.

                When she does, Rachel puts her effort into silently communicating to Sarah that _this is the coat_ and _the price doesn’t matter_ and _please just let me do this for you_.

                Sarah sighs and nods her head the tiniest bit.

                Rachel grins and loosens her grip, letting her fingers find Sarah’s, “Thank you.” She whispers because this isn’t _just_ about a coat or gloves. Rachel knows Sarah is trusting her with something today that neither of them quite has a name for.

                Rachel’s heart flutters unsteadily in her chest when Sarah smiles back and squeezes her hand.

                “Shouldn’t I be the one thanking you?” Sarah tugs her closer, perhaps without even meaning to.

                They both do things like that on occasion. Rachel tries not to think about what that could _mean_.

                Rachel shakes her head. She bites her lip. She _wants_ to lean forward and kiss Sarah right there in the middle of the store.

                Sarah beats her to it. Her brunette friend’s lips press against hers softly. Sarah isn’t usually _soft_.

                Rachel’s heart flutters again. “You’re welcome,” she says, when Sarah pulls back.

               

\--

                Sarah lets Rachel buy her the coat and two sets of gloves (one has the tips cut off). Sarah lets Rachel cart her around downtown and follows the other girl into stores where, usually, Sarah would have an employee following _her_ in seconds. Sarah sticks close to Rachel’s side and tries to enjoy being treated like she _deserves_ this kind of stuff. She likes it. She likes it _a lot_.

                Sarah doesn’t think anything of kissing Rachel in public. She doesn’t care what people think of her, of them. She knows Rachel does, sometimes, but Sarah really doesn’t. People are going to judge – you can’t let it stop you from _living_. Sarah would never get out of bed, some days, if she cared about the judgments. She’s got other stuff to worry about, like how nice it feels to stroll down the block holding Rachel’s hand, or how her lungs are suddenly _empty_ of air and her stomach is suddenly _full_ of butterflies when Rachel smiles at her.

                It’s not _every_ time Rachel smiles at her. Sarah would be dead from lack of oxygen if that were the case, but it’s often enough that she has to consciously stop herself from dwelling on it. Rachel’s her _friend_. Yeah, they mess around. Sarah _likes_ messing around with Rachel. Sarah likes Rachel, as a person, as a friend. A close friend. She’s not, like, _in love_ with the posh girl or anything. Their friendship is _weird_ and it _shouldn’t work_. They’re too different. They’re actually fairly similar in personality and whatnot, but they’re _worlds_ are so different. Sarah knows it would be too much, eventually, if they went down that path. She’s _sure of it_. If she wasn’t, well, then maybe she’d let herself think about how _good_ it feels to kiss Rachel in context of the boys Sarah’s kissed. How much _better_.

                Sarah clears her throat, chasing those thoughts away. It’s not _relevant_. They’re just messing around. “Rach?”

                Rachel tilts her head up from where she’s cuddled against Sarah’s side in the back of the car.

                “Thanks for today, for the gloves and all,” Sarah tries not to think about how her heart _still_ pounds when they’re close like this. The casual affection is the hardest to dismiss.

                Rachel just smiles at her and adjusts her position so her head rests on Sarah’s shoulder.

                Sarah smiles back and she _wants_ to kiss Rachel’s forehead. She resists the urge, because they’re _just_ messing around. They’re not dating or anything like that. Sarah’s arm is around Rachel’s back. Her hand is on Rachel’s hip. If they were _alone_ Sarah would move her hand to Rachel’s stomach and let her fingers gently brush against the other girl’s body through her shirt.

                They aren’t alone though. Daniel’s up in the driver’s seat glaring at the road. He’s driving them to Sarah’s neighborhood.

                Sarah thinks Daniel’s into Rachel (too). She thinks that’s why the broody guy doesn’t like her. Might just be a case of classism, but Sarah thinks it’s because of Rachel. She can’t pin down _why_ , exactly, but she’s caught the man looking at her friend a few times. Sarah thinks Daniel should keep his eyes to himself. She turns her attention back to Rachel.

                Rachel’s watching her again.

                Sarah gives in and kisses Rachel’s forehead. “Stop staring,” she mumbles, smiling despite herself. She can feel the deep breath Rachel takes and knows the blonde is twisting her hands together in her lap. She knows that Rachel’s trying to keep her hands there, to herself, because they’re not alone right now.

                “Why?” Rachel asks.

                Sarah snorts, “Shut up, posh.” Sarah keeps reminding herself they’re not dating until Daniel stops the car at the usual corner.

                Rachel picks her head up with a soft sigh.

                Sarah knows how she feels. She _never_ wants their time to be done quite yet. Sarah doesn’t think about whether or not that’s _meaningful_. They’re just two girls messing around. That’s _all_.

                “Goodnight, Sarah,” Rachel squeezes her thigh gently.

                Sarah’s breath catches for a moment and she swallows the spit in her mouth. “Yeah, g’night.” She leans in and kisses Rachel one more time, lingering. “See you next week.”

                Rachel smiles against her lips.

                Sarah’s heart thuds and jumps and she wonders if maybe there’s _more_ to this than just messing around. She doesn’t mention it, but she does wonder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel opens up; Sarah buries her feelings, but actions speak louder; Sarah meets Ethan Duncan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr chapter notes: I love exploring what Rachel could have been. You know, if she’d actually had a genuine support system and people who gave a shit about her as she grew into herself. Technically this is chapter 6, part 1. The next chapter will pick up where this one leaves off. Enjoy, friends!

                _Sarah,_

_I know we haven’t really used our letters lately to really, well, talk – since we see each other at least once a week, but this is easier to write than speak. I almost told you today, but the words just wouldn’t come. Whenever I try to talk about it, out loud, I want to cry. I passionately hate crying (I think you’ll understand)._

_I’m worried about my father. We’re nearing the time of year when my mother died and he always gets a bit worse, but he’s been worse already, so I’m not sure what to expect. His physician talks to me like I’m a child and there doesn’t seem to be any one thing that’s wrong. It’s really just the grief. I don’t know what to do, or how to help, and he sleeps so much now that I’m afraid one day he’s not going to wake up. I’m afraid I won’t notice until it’s too late to do anything. He’s so quiet._

_I don’t know what to do, Sarah. If – when – I can’t even write it down! When it happens I’ll be all alone. I don’t want to be alone. I’m not ready to be an orphan again! I can’t be an orphan again! I want my mother back. I want my father back. I want to be normal! I want a normal life with parents who are alive and healthy! I don’t care about being rich. I don’t care about going to the best school. I just want my parents back. I just don’t want to be alone._

_Sometimes my father forgets who I am, or who he is, or where he is. The doctors say he’s depressed, but there must be something they can do about it! It’s been years now. Aren’t there medications or therapies that could help him? I know he has to consent to treatment, but I feel like no one even tries anymore! Aldous and Marion, my father’s work associates, check in on me and make sure I’m doing well in school, but they don’t really care about me. They respect my father, but they were never his friends. I don’t have any aunts or uncles or anyone else. It’s just the two of us and I can’t convince him to get help. I’ve tried, but it’s just too hard. We never talk about my mother. It’s too hard on us both._

_I don’t expect you to have an answer to this. I just needed to talk about it, in some fashion, and you’re the only person I trust not to use the information against me. Isn’t that awful? Isn’t it sick? My schoolmates are useless for anything truly important. As you know, they just see me as a rival. My father’s work associates just see me as a burden – I’m sure of it. They send Daniel to drive me around and keep an eye on me, they send groceries to our house, they make sure I have money for clothes and books and whatever else, but they don’t actually care. Not in the ways that really count. I hate it. I hate them. No one actually cares about me except my father, who has been practically on his deathbed for years now, and you. You’re the only one who actually, really cares about me._

_I’m going to stop now. I’m sorry there are smudges, but I am indeed crying and I just don’t have the energy to rewrite this. I hope you’ll forgive me._

_Rachel_

                Sarah jumps off her bed the moment she finishes reading Rachel’s letter. She bolts down the stairs and runs into the kitchen. It’s Thursday night.

                “Hey, S, can I stay at Rachel’s this weekend? Please?” Sarah asks, trying (and failing) to hide how panicked and worried she is in that moment.

                Mrs. S looks startled, probably because Sarah came thundering down the staircase and is leaning on the table looking like the world is ending. “I suppose so, as long as it’s fine with her father.”

                “Well,” Sarah stands up straight, looking down at the letter clutched in her hand still, and back up at her foster mum. “Rachel never really asks his permission when I go over there. He’s sick, he’s been sick for a long time,” Sarah shifts nervously. She’s not sure how much to tell. She doesn’t know if Rachel would mind. “That’s why I want to stay over. Rachel’s upset about it.”

                S tilts her head, studying Sarah silently, and she nods slowly. “Okay. Clearly this is important to you,” she gestures to how worked up Sarah is, “but I want you to call me when you get there tomorrow and again Saturday, and _again_ Sunday before you come home. Understand?”

                Sarah nods quickly, jumping forward again to hug S tight. “I will, I promise. Thank you, S.”

                Mrs. S has never let her stay over at a friend’s house before (Sarah never asked before).

 

\--

                Rachel normally does homework on Friday afternoons while she waits for Sarah. Rachel normally doesn’t glance up at the door every single time a customer comes through the coffee shop. Rachel normally isn’t nervous about seeing Sarah, not anymore. She doesn’t exactly regret sending her last letter, but she is a bit embarrassed about it. Rachel isn’t one for sharing her feelings. Neither of them is the bleeding heart sort. It is one of the reasons she and Sarah get along as well as they do. She simply couldn’t _help it_. She needed Sarah to know that there is, there has been, this gnawing pain inside her.

                Rachel wanted to confide in Sarah, but she still feels awkward about it. She doesn’t think Sarah will think less of her for it, no, but she doesn’t know if it will change how Sarah sees her at all. Rachel doesn’t want Sarah to think Rachel is ungrateful for the material things she has. Rachel knows she has a good life, a much _better_ life than many people, but she maintains that money isn’t everything. Money isn’t what matters, in the end, if you are still alone.

                Rachel looks up again, resigned to seeing another stranger, but it is Sarah tromping through the door this time. Rachel feels a smile spread across her face, despite the additional butterflies in her stomach. She can’t help but smile around Sarah.

                Sarah sits across from her, snowflakes caught in the brunette’s hair, and sets down her school bag. She also sets down a gray duffle bag.

                “Hey, Rach, how are you?”

                The creases in Sarah’s forehead tell Rachel that Sarah’s question isn’t just a greeting. The way Sarah’s eyes search hers, flicking around Rachel’s face, tell the blonde that her friend read the letter.

                Sarah reaches over and squeezes Rachel’s hand.

                Rachel looks down and steels herself, wishing she didn’t feel so vulnerable while the two of them were in public. “I’m okay,” she says quietly.

                Sarah doesn’t look convinced.

                Rachel squeezes her hand back, smiling a bit wider than before. “Better now,” she adds, trusting Sarah will complete the sentence in her head. “Why do you have a second bag with you?”

                Sarah relaxes now, grinning sheepishly, “I’m inviting myself over for the weekend.”

                “What?” Rachel’s heart skips a beat, but she’s not sure _why_ , exactly.

                A familiar, sloppy, teeth-exposing smile graces her friend’s face as Sarah leans forward. “I figured you could use the company,” Sarah lowers her voice and winks playfully, as if her motives aren’t rooted in genuine concern for Rachel’s wellbeing.

                Rachel is familiar with this – with pretending serious emotions are lighthearted ones – with pretending nothing is wrong (and that Sarah is just a girl she kisses for fun). This is their dance.

                Rachel leans forward, too, challengingly, “That’s rather presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”

                Sarah kisses her and it sends Rachel twirling.

                Sarah squeezes her hand again and turns to her school bag, pulling out a notebook and her history text. She arranges them on her half of the table and stands, taking Rachel’s empty mug with her to the counter. She comes back with a refill for Rachel along with her own drink. She doesn’t say anything else.

                Rachel blinks and goes back to her advanced biology workbook with a small smile on her lips.

 

\--

                Sarah didn’t mean to kiss Rachel just then. It was instinctive. There’s this _glint_ in Rachel’s eyes sometimes, when Rachel meets her smart ass comments and her playful innuendos full on, when it seems Rachel is _herself_. Sarah didn’t think about it.

                Sarah doesn’t think about it. Sarah doesn’t think about how attractive it is when Rachel orders Daniel around, or chases people away with just a look. Guys approach them from time to time while they drink coffee and do their homework, and each time Rachel stares them down, not deigning to speak. No, Rachel doesn’t have _to_. People just know not to mess with her. Sarah doesn’t think that’s impressive. Sarah doesn’t think it’s special that Rachel lets down her guard when they’re alone. Sarah doesn’t think _she’s_ special just because Rachel trusts her.

                Sarah does her best not to think about it, because then she might find the words for the way her stomach tumbles when Rachel touches her or the way her heart twists when Rachel casually leans into her when they walk together (hand in hand). So what if she read Rachel’s letter and leapt into action to make sure her friend knows she’s not alone? So what if Sarah spends nearly all of her free time with the blonde? So what if Sarah’s nervous about meeting Rachel’s dad and staying over and, maybe, staying in Rachel’s (bed) room with her this weekend?

                Sarah isn’t the kind of girl who gets worked up about that kind of thing. Sarah’s never had a proper boyfriend because Sarah’s not the stick around for the morning type, not even at sixteen. She’s not, so she actively avoids thinking and, instead, lives in the moment. (She likes the moments with Rachel best, yeah. So what?)

 

\--

                “That will be all for tonight, Daniel,” Rachel throws the words over her shoulder, growing more and more comfortable with bossing him around (she _likes_ it). She has her house keys in one hand and Sarah’s hand in the other. Rachel locks the door behind them and is still for a few seconds, listening for any sign that her father is awake. All she hears is Sarah shuffling behind her.

                Rachel turns and leans back against the wood, tilting her head to one side and allowing her school bag to slide down her arm. Sarah is watching her. Rachel raises her eyebrows as she lets go of the strap and watches, in turn, as Sarah calmly sets down her own things. Rachel smirks, relaxing fully now that they have some privacy, enjoying the harsh clip of Sarah’s boots on the marble floor. Rachel tangles her fingers in Sarah’s hair when the other girl is close enough. She pulls Sarah against her and bites lightly at the brunette’s bottom lip.

                Rachel is pleased when Sarah reacts the way she wants, the way she expects, when Sarah slides her hands up Rachel’s thighs and slips her tongue into Rachel’s mouth.

                _Less_ pleasing is the polite cough from the other end of the narrow entrance hall.

                Instinctively, Rachel grabs Sarah’s collar as the brunette jumps back, refusing to let her friend go too far. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, after all. (Instinctively, Rachel’s thumb finds Sarah’s pulse, gently encouraging her to calm down.) It isn’t quite the introduction Rachel intended, but Sarah had to meet her father at some point in the evening.

                “Hello,” her father, Ethan Duncan, waves a hand at the two of them. He’s smiling and he’s dressed properly (there have been _bad_ days). He’s even wearing a warm sweater. That’s good.

                Sarah is wide eyed, but her breathing is closer to normal than to panting. That’s good, too.

                “Father, this is my – this is Sarah,” Rachel decides names are better than titles, at the moment. “I told you about her,” Rachel pushes off from the door and moves her hand to Sarah’s bicep, pulling her along. She doesn’t want to let go, to break contact with her friend, but there’s no reason beyond not wanting to, so she does.

                “H – hey, Mr. Duncan,” Sarah lifts a hand in greeting, smiling back, but she seems rather… uncomfortable.

                Rachel’s father shakes his head and _tut-tuts_ , “Oh, none of that, dearie, just call me Ethan.” He keeps smiling, even pats Sarah’s shoulder, before he focuses on his daughter. “How was school, love?”

                “School was fine, daddy,” Rachel is beside herself. He seems fine tonight, which is rather better than he’s been in months. Rachel doesn’t take note of the informality. It just happens.

                “Good,” Ethan nods resolutely, “that’s wonderful. Would you girls like some tea?” He is amiable and he doesn’t exude sadness as he has so often lately.

                Beside her, the visible tension drains from Sarah’s shoulders, “I’d love some, Ethan,” she nods a bit, rather respectfully, “thank you.”

                Rachel has never witnessed Sarah be so polite. It’s almost as if she wants to make a good impression, but that’s nonsense. Rachel is a bit awed by it, honestly. Polite isn’t the first word that comes to mind when she thinks about Sarah Manning (not even close), but at the same time, it seems to suit her. Rachel sits and has tea with her father and her best friend (her only friend) and it feels good. It feels normal. Rachel sits, quietly sipping her tea, and watches as Sarah entertains her father with anecdotes about public school, about what she remembers of living in Brixton, about why she likes history and how much Rachel has helped her with her essay writing.

                The praise does not go unnoticed. It’s sweet of her, really, to keep steering the conversation in ways that include them both. Rachel marvels at Sarah’s _ease_. Sarah talks to her father as if they’ve known one another for years. Rachel’s mind wanders, just for a moment, to a future where they have – to a future for herself that includes Sarah in some central way.

                “Rach?” Sarah’s hand on her arm breaks the daydream before it fully forms.

                “Yes? Sorry,” Rachel waves a hand, “my mind was elsewhere.”

 

\--

                Nearly an hour later, once Ethan has shuffled out of sight to use the washroom, Sarah allows herself to sag in her chair, dropping her head forward to rest on her arms.

                “Shit, fuck, damn,” she mutters quickly, the words bleeding together, only to pick her head back up enough to look at Rachel.

                The blonde’s hand rubs soothingly at her back and Sarah wants to moan at the innocent contact.

                Sarah sits up fully, dropping one hand to Rachel’s leg absently. She looks around, taking in the modern kitchen. They’ve been sitting on bar stools, _chatting_ for ages now: Ethan on a short side of the kitchen island, and Sarah and Rachel on a long side.

                “Are you okay?” Rachel is smiling at her, looking perfectly happy.

                “I wasn’t exactly prepared to meet your dad with my hands all over you and my tongue down your throat, posh,” Sarah stage-whispers (she isn’t sure she could handle any more potential disasters tonight). She considers for a moment, idly brushing her hand down to the hem of Rachel’s skirt, “Though I suppose being offered _tea_ qualifies as best-case-scenario.”

                Rachel rolls her eyes, but Sarah knows it to be an affectionate gesture.

                “Seriously, how many parents would react that way?” Sarah wants to freak out a bit more, but Rachel’s smile fades to nothing. “Hey, Rachel he seems okay tonight. That’s good, right?”

                Her blonde friend nods, but her eyes are distant, “This is the best I’ve seen him in quite a while.” Rachel reaches over and brushes some hair behind Sarah’s ear, “Perhaps you’re a good luck charm.”

                Sarah snorts, squeezing Rachel’s leg, “Hardly.” She leans over and pecks Rachel’s cheek, staying close to fully enjoy the flush that inevitably spreads up her friend’s neck. _This_ is more like it, Sarah thinks, easy flirting and jokes. This is their comfort zone – not tearstained letters and tea with _daddy_. (Sarah files that away for later use.) The casual banter iscomfortable, but so are the casual touches and the long looks. Sarah shakes off the thought; the implicit questions.

                Instead of dwelling on any of it, instead she asks about dinner. Bland, easy, normal.

                Rachel shrugs and points to the fridge and the pantry, “You’re welcome to look through. I should probably start on it soon, actually,” Rachel pauses to check the time, nods. “My father has medications he needs to take with food,” she adds.

                “You’re going to cook?” Sarah leans, resting her chin in her free hand and her elbow on the counter. “Seriously? _You_ cook?” This is news.

                Rachel glares at her, “I take care of him, remember?” Rachel mutters this as her father rejoins them at the island. There’s genuine anger in the downturn of her friend’s lips.

                Sarah squeezes her leg again, fingers dancing to the inside of the blonde’s bare thigh in a silent apology. She knows she’s forgiven when Rachel’s hand covers hers, stilling her movement, but also keeping them connected. It seems so natural to sit there, the three of them, and talk with her hand on Rachel’s warm skin. Sarah doesn’t let herself think about why. She debates boiled potatoes versus mashed with Ethan and stands, familiarizing herself with where things are around the kitchen. Sarah doesn’t let herself think about why her hand is suddenly so cold.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Original tumblr chapter summary: Sarah’s scared and Rachel is, too; just of different things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to all for the delay. Further apologies to the tumblr crowd, because you've read this one already. Going forward, all chapters will be xposted on tumblr and AO3 live.
> 
> This chapter picks up right where the last one ended.

                Sarah groans into her first bite of baked chicken. “Okay, I’m really sorry I laughed,” she tries to remember not to talk with her mouth full. “This is amazing, posh, seriously.” Sarah pauses to savor another bite, “I’m coming over for dinner more often.”

                Rachel sits, posture perfect, and smiles at the compliment. She cuts her food perfectly and eats with perfect poise.

                It should be annoying.

                Sarah forced herself to stop staring before Ethan notices (before _Rachel_ notices) and goes back to her own meal.

                “How did you girls meet?” Ethan motions between them with his fork, “I’m sure you told me, but I can’t remember at the moment.” He says it nonchalantly, like it’s no big deal.

                Rachel’s shoulders don’t tense. She doesn’t grimace or even frown, but her fingers tighten on her knife for just a second.

                If Sarah hadn’t been watching she’d have missed it.

                “Our schools are doing a pen pals exchange. It was supposed to be anonymous until the end of the year, but Sarah and I ran into each other on the street, by your office.” Rachel’s eyes are on her plate as she pushes her food around, “One of Sarah’s letters fell out of my bag and she recognized it.”

                Sarah nods, quick to go along with the sanitized version of events, “We figured since the anonymity was blown we might as well be friends, like, in person and everything.” Sarah smiles at the blonde next to her, nudging her elbow against Rachel’s arm gently.

                “That’s splendid,” Ethan nods, “I’m glad you have each other.”

                Sarah barely hears him.

                Rachel smiles back at her and the conversation moves along.

 

\--

                Rachel sits at the kitchen island and huffs into her tea. “You really don’t need to do the dishes, Sarah, it’s fine. I’ve told you – I do them all the time.” She leans her chin on one hand and watches Sarah check through the cabinets and drawers, learning where to put everything away.

                “You have told me and _that’s why_ I’m doing them tonight. I invited myself over,” Sarah waves a hand, her back to Rachel. “Least I can do is keep you from doing extra dishes on my account.”

                Rachel rolls her eyes, but she stops protesting. She wonders, silently of course, if Sarah realizes how sweet she’s being. Doubtful. She wonders, a bit nervously, if Sarah would stop if Rachel pointed it out. She doesn’t, of course. No, Rachel doesn’t say a word about it. She drinks her tea and enjoys how their comfortable silences have followed them home from the coffee shop.

                Sarah sits next to her when the dishes are taken care of. Her brunette friend leans over and steals a sip from her mug. “Oh shite,” Sarah stands again, “I was supposed to call Mrs. S when I got here. Where’s your phone, Rach?”

                “On the wall,” Rachel points, trying not to smile again, because Sarah is somehow more _something_ when she’s nervous. It’s bothersome, really, how often Rachel wants to smile these days.

                “Hey, S, yeah, I –”

                Rachel averts her eyes. Watching Sarah bite her lip, most likely holding back some defensive retort, is just too much.

                “ _I’m sorry_ , we got caught up talking to Rachel’s dad. We just finished dinner a little while ago and I remembered – ahuh, uh,” Sarah walks back, stretching the phone cord behind her, “okay, one sec – Rachel, S wants to talk to you.” Sarah shrugs apologetically as she holds out the phone.

                Rachel swallows abruptly. “Hello?”

                “ _Hello, Rachel, is Sarah behaving herself?_ ” Siobhan Sadler is Sarah’s foster mother. She’s Irish, judging by the accent, though Sarah never mentioned it.

                “Yes, she –” Rachel stutters as the girl in question sits next to her again and locks her arms around Rachel’s waist.

                Sarah pulls until Rachel’s stool scrapes the tile floor, until Rachel is close enough for Sarah to rest her chin on the blonde’s shoulder, flashing her teeth in a wide grin.

                Rachel rolls her eyes, “She’s _behaving_ , yes.”

                “ _Good. Please remind her to call me at some point tomorrow._ ” Siobhan sounds warm, Rachel decides.

                “I will,” Rachel turns her head and lets her lips brush against Sarah’s forehead, her stomach knotting for fear the other girl will pull away.

                Sarah keeps smiling and squeezes her in a brief hug before taking the phone back to finish the call. “So, what now?” Sarah asks after she hangs up.

                “Homework,” Rachel replies.

                “Yeah? Anatomy?” Sarah grins again, raising her eyebrows hopefully.

                Rachel nearly snorts into her tea when she realizes the innuendo, “ _After_ homework.”

 

\--

                Sarah eases herself to the side, settling down against Rachel’s soft bed. She watches her friend’s bare chest rise and fall rapidly and turns her face into a pillow to hide a smile. _Just messing around_ , she repeated silently. The urge to hold Rachel after they… mess around isn’t usually so strong. Then again, Sarah’s usually throwing her clothes back on hours before now to get ready to go. Tonight, there’s nowhere to go.

                Rachel is quiet, her eyes still fluttering, leaving Sarah alone with her thoughts. The blonde reaches out a hand, finding hers without needing to look, and squeezes briefly.

                Sarah growls into the pillow, internally screaming at herself to _Get it together_ before Rachel notices anything’s different. Not _changed_ , more like, a bump in the road or something. _Yeah_. Sarah almost believes it.

                “Are you okay?” Rachel rolls closer and her hand is warm and comfortable against Sarah’s skin.

                “I’m good, posh,” Sarah stretches, forcing everything but the present moment _away_. She shifts to face Rachel and lets her body relax. She lets herself enjoy the afterglow for once and hopes it won’t make things more complicated. “You up for another round, or do you want to sleep?”

                Wet lips ghost across her shoulder. Sarah tries not to shudder.

                “Sleep, I think,” Rachel replies, resting her cheek on Sarah’s arm. She suppresses a yawn and looks up at the other girl through long lashes.

                Sarah wants to grab her and start again, but Rachel does look tired. Sarah certainly feels tired. Her hand is still cramping. She nods and pushes up until she’s kneeling, so she can reach across the blonde to flick off the bedside lamp. She bites her lip as their bodies brush together. Sarah pulls up the covers and hopes Rachel can’t feel her heart racing as her _best friend_ curls into her, easily (naturally) fitting into her arms. Sarah thinks the sound of Rachel’s even breathing might be the most soothing thing she’s heard (things are complicated enough already).

 

\--

                Rachel wakes up slowly, incoherent bits of a dream clinging to the inside of her eyelids. She feels warm and content. She starts to burrow deeper into her blankets and pillows, and is only momentarily startled when the _other_ warm body in her bed grunts in protest. Rachel stops, holding her breath, until the dead weight of Sarah’s arm locked around her is convincing enough evidence that the other girl is still sleeping. Rachel feels shy, suddenly, but she pushes that away. She closes her eyes and enjoys waking up in Sarah Manning’s embrace. Rachel breathes slowly and tries to commit each sensation to memory. She knows Sarah will move away soon enough.

                Rachel isn’t blind. She knows Sarah is struggling with how she feels about all of this. It isn’t so much that Rachel isn’t, too; perhaps it just bothers her less to begin with. In a way, it’s unfair, because Sarah kissed her first, but Rachel shoves that away, as well. The sun starts to rise and Rachel considers possible courses of action. She could pretend nothing is wrong, as Sarah seems set on doing. She could pull back, though she certainly doesn’t want to do that. She could, perhaps, encourage Sarah to be more comfortable in their less… heated moments.

                That’s what she wants. Rachel doesn’t need labels or promises. They’re _sixteen_. Rachel just doesn’t want to worry that Sarah will do something drastic to reestablish distance between them. Rachel knows her friend well enough to consider that possible outcome. If nothing else, they are friends, and Rachel doesn’t want to jeopardize that. She doesn’t want to go back to being so alone. She doesn’t mean to, but the very thought spurs her to hug Sarah and the motion is enough to wake her.

                Rachel sighs, her face still pressed against the brunette’s collarbone.

                “Mmm, Rach?” Sarah’s voice is clouded with sleep.

                Rachel nods, her eyes shut tight against how the rawness makes her feel.

                Sarah groans, pushing against Rachel’s hip. “I need my other arm back. It’s doing that pins and needles thing. Ow.” Sarah rolls onto her back, wiggling her arm free and shaking it out in front of her. “Bloody hell, that hurts. You’re holding me tonight, Duncan.” Sarah’s face is screwed up in pain and annoyance.

                Rachel feels her heart flutter and her stomach coils tighter. She knows Sarah doesn’t realize, but _oh_ , the things she says sometimes. The things she does. It isn’t fair. Rachel reaches up and brings Sarah’s arm down between them, massaging her palm and her wrist, slowly moving up the other girl’s skin.

                The look on Sarah’s face, what Rachel decides is a mixture of fear and desire and happiness, is worth the potential embarrassment of being too affectionate, or of assuming too much, or of Sarah noticing the renewed heat she’s inspired. Rachel squeezes her thighs together discreetly and focuses on relieving Sarah’s pain. Rachel pushes away her feelings and focuses on action. It isn’t exactly a new coping mechanism in Rachel’s life. Just a new way of using it.

 

\--

                “ _Are you having a good time?_ ”

                Sarah glances over at Rachel and Ethan and twists the phone cord around her fingers. “Yeah, I am,” she tells S.

                “ _Have you invited Rachel to Felix’s show?_ ”

                “Uh, no, not yet.” Sarah feels her heart rate pick up again. “I will.” She’s not sure about it, now.

                Mrs. S probably knows something’s up. She can probably hear it in Sarah’s voice.

                Sarah looks over at Rachel again, watches her interact with her dad. He’s nice, and he clearly loves her a lot. He is kind of frail, though. Sarah understands why Rachel worries so much about him.

                “ _Sarah?_ ”

                “What?” She straightens, standing to her full height, trying to ignore the jumble in her mind.

                “ _Let me know what time you’re coming home tomorrow, and if I should get extra tickets. Okay, chicken?_ ”

                Sarah smiles at the familiar endearment. “Yeah, I will, thanks S.” She finishes the call and walks back to sit next to Rachel at the kitchen island.

                “Everything good at home, Sarah?” Ethan asks.

                She nods, “Mhmm, hey, um, Rach?” Sarah taps a finger on the table nervously.

                “Yes?” Rachel raises an eyebrow, taking note of her anxiousness.

                “There’s, ah, a show at my school in a few weeks. Like, a musical. They pulled a few younger kids to be in it. Mrs. S and me are going to go to watch Felix.” Sarah wishes, suddenly, that she’d asked without Ethan around. She doesn’t want Rachel to say yes just to be polite. “Do you want to come along?”

                “A _musical_?” Rachel blinks and leans back on her stool.

                Sarah snorts into her hand, “I know, but Felix.” She shrugs.

                Her friend tilts her head, considering, and smiles, “I suppose it would be… enlightening to see what passes as culture in public school.” Rachel’s words are biting, but her tone is light.

                “You’re a snob,” Sarah sneers playfully.

                Rachel shrugs, still smiling.

                Sarah waits patiently for Ethan to shuffle off, as he does, to put her hand on Rachel’s arm. “Hey,” she starts, her eyes dropping away from the other girl’s. “You don’t have to come. I just told S I’d ask.”

                Rachel tilts her head again, this time in confusion. “Do you not want me to go?” There’s something hesitant in the blonde’s voice.

                “It’s not that,” Sarah shakes her head quickly, her hand slipping into Rachel’s almost against her will. “It’s just…” She looks away, biting her lip.

                “What, Sarah?” Rachel’s fingers brush against hers gently.

                “It’s not, like, _girlfriend territory_ or something, is it? Going to my little brother’s thing?” Sarah allows her fear to show and silently prays Rachel understands. They wouldn’t _work_ like that.

                Rachel’s fingers still. She looks away for a moment and her jaw tightens.

                The bottom drops out of Sarah’s stomach, but then Rachel meets her eye again.

                “No, of course not,” she says, squeezing Sarah’s hand. “Don’t be absurd, dear.” Rachel scoffs like the suggestion is crazy.

                _It is crazy_ , Sarah thinks. It’s crazy that she feels disappointed even when Rachel’s said what she wanted.

                “Okay, I’ll tell S to buy you a ticket then?”

                “Yes.”


End file.
